


Kingsman Christmas 2017 Ficlets Collection

by TheSilverQueen



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Animal Transformation, Kingsman Christmas, M/M, cat!eggsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-12 18:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverQueen/pseuds/TheSilverQueen
Summary: A collection of all the ficlets for Kingsman Christmas 2017, the prompt calendar for which can be foundHERE. Summary will change to reflect the most current day, and warnings will be chapter-specific at the beginning of each.Day 1: Cold Weather = When Dean hires a witch to curse Eggsy into a cat so he can tell Michelle Eggsy ran away, Eggsy ends up taking shelter in the garden of one Harry Hart.Day 2: Christmas Market = When Harry goes on a "simple mission" to a Christmas market, he is definitely not expecting to be shrunk down to 12 centimeters. He's also not expecting to find out that he's by no means the first victim either. Enter Eggsy Unwin.





	1. Cold Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean hires a witch to curse Eggsy into a cat so he can tell Michelle Eggsy ran away, Eggsy ends up taking shelter in the garden of one Harry Hart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably shouldn't be doing this, but I have exactly 0.0000000000000001% of self control so here we are. Those of you who have read what I did in my Hannigram series, this collection will be done in the same format of strange AUs based on whatever my muse decides matches the prompt. Those of you who have never read my work: hi, welcome to my collection of rambling and weird ideas that I don't think merit a full story but also don't want cluttering up my brain anymore. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: n/a, just fluffy fluff.

In Eggsy’s defense, the last bloody thing he expected when he woke up to find Dean hovering over him with the nastiest smile on his face was that Dean’s face would look about twenty times bigger.

Eggsy yelps in shock, and then yelps again because, what the hell, Eggsy knows what he sounds like and his yelps _do not_ sound like the cross between a squawking chicken and a trodden on puppy. He is not at all calmed by the fact that when he attempts to sit off, he ends up tangled in a blanket and is unceremoniously shaken off the bed by Dean’s uproarious laughter and pushy hands.

This is, of course, when Eggsy comes face to face with himself in the mirror he’s always propped against his wall, since Dean smashed off prongs for the wall ages ago.

Eggsy yelps again, because he’s a bloody _cat_.

* * *

Dean literally picks him up and tosses him out of the apartment, laughing so hard that snot and tears cover his entire face. He’s wheezing so hard that it’s difficult to make out words, but it’s not so hard to guess; Dean has been threatening for ages to curse Eggsy and leave him a zoo somewhere and tell his mom that he just ran away. Eggsy never thought it would happen, mostly because these kinds of curses aren’t cheap and he’s honestly surprised Dean didn’t spend the money on booze and drugs.

Granted, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that Dean didn’t just blackmail some poor sod, but this is seriously a high quality curse. Most animal transformation curses wear off in a couple hours, but by nightfall Eggsy is wet and cold and still a bloody cat.

Eggsy sleeps curled in a forgotten and knocked over trash can, which stinks but also offers protection from the rain.

When morning comes and he is still a cat, Eggsy thinks _Why me_ and then sets off in search of food. On the bright side, as a cat he requires much less and it’s a lot easier to steal something as a cat. On the downside, well, he’s a bloody cat, and in the estates people are more likely to kick a cat than to offer it food.

He spends the second night in an overturned cardboard box and the third underneath a bench. On the fourth night he returns home, hoping to catch sight of his mum, but Dean catches sight of him and chases him off. Well, Dean doesn’t, but his little pack of enforcers needs no details to go haring off of after a defenseless cat. On his fifth night he makes a nest of some old newspapers, and on the sixth he huddles under a bush.

On the seventh night, Eggsy stumbles into the garden of one Harry Hart.

* * *

Later on, many years later, Eggsy will protest that it was no accident. He deliberately left the estates in search of better food and an escape from Dean’s goons and shelter from the cold weather, and if Harry and Merlin connect the dots between his second return home and Michelle’s complete disinterest in where he was, well, they’re kind enough to keep it to themselves.

In all honestly, it goes something a little like this: Eggsy is sore and tired and wandering, and the nearest garden has a sweet little hole in the side that Eggsy squeezes into. He curls up in the shade of a flower pot and sleeps, because all he does as a cat now is sleep and eat and wander and sleep some more. It’s rather disheartening to lay down on a sidewalk and lose three hours to napping in the sun, especially since that his cat legs are much shorter than a human’s and he covers much less ground in a day as it is without counting inconvenient, random naps.

But Eggsy is exhausted and starving, so it should be no surprise that he doesn’t wake up until Harry bloody Hart is three inches from his face and cooing at him.

* * *

Three hours later, Eggsy is sitting on the counter with a dish filled with expensive fish in front of him, swaddled in a fluffy blanket, and staring at Harry as he alternately talks, laughs to himself, and orders more expensive cat food on his very shiny tablet.

Harry, who had talked to Eggsy the entire time he had carefully bathed Eggsy and combed his fur, had said things like “Aren’t you a handsome boy?” and “My name is Harry Hart, by the way. I suppose I’ll have to think up a name for you” and “I suppose fish will have to do. I do apologize that I don’t have more cat-appropriate food”. Eggsy had at the time been far more concerned with the _stuffed dog_ on the mantel of the bathroom, but Harry had caught where he was looking and laughed some more and said, “Oh, don’t you worry, Cat. He’s quite dead.”

Which hadn’t really addressed Eggsy’s worries, but the fish does smell really good and Harry had ordered it and had it delivered faster than pizza can make it to Eggsy’s flat, so Eggsy buries his face in the dish and eats.

If he purrs very slightly when Harry pets him with confident strokes along his flanks, well, it’s not like Harry will ever be able to tell anyone Eggsy knows, given that he’s never met the man in his life and Harry is far too posh to ever meet any of Eggsy’s family.

When Eggsy is done and listing slightly to the side in sleepiness, Harry chucks him gently on the chin and says, “I think that means I need to find you a bed to sleep in.”

The pet bed smells atrociously like wet dog. Eggsy takes one sniff, wrinkles his nose, and looks at Harry.

Harry says, “Absolutely not.”

Eggsy smirks and coils himself into a little ball on Harry’s extra pillow, and knows he’s won when Harry just sighs and heads for the ensuite bathroom.

* * *

Eggsy never realized just how much stairs suck. Well, he did realize it that one time Dean broke his leg, but at least then he could sort of awkwardly scoot upwards and downwards with his butt. As a cat who is not quite a kitten but definitely full grown, Harry Hart’s stairs seem infinitely more dangerous and embarrassing than they ever could have been when Eggsy was down to one useable leg.

But Harry is apparently an early riser, and Eggsy had woken to an empty bed and the covers neatly tucked around him. Eggsy had tried meowing, but Harry had only hummed and called “Breakfast is ready, Cat!” so Eggsy’s pretty sure he’s going to be on his own for this.

The first step isn’t so bad – thank god cats are flexible – but the second is a little shaky. Eggsy misses the third because he still can’t control his bloody tail, and he ends up a grumpy heap at the bottom of the stairs. Harry is still humming in the kitchen, so he doesn’t even come to investigate; Eggsy licks mournfully at his stinging paws and then trundles off in search of food. If the quality of food is anything like what Harry served him last night, he might actually survive until the spell wears off and he can go and punch Dean in the face.

“Good morning, Cat,” Harry says cheerfully. He’s dressed in a full on three piece suit, so Eggsy just blinks at him. Cooking is messy and if Eggsy had a three piece suit he’d never wear it to cook.

It suits Harry though. He’s prim and proper and posh, and that suit looks stiff enough that Eggsy wonders if he could use them as a bridge down the stairs.

“Unfortunately I do not have any more fish or anything else suitable to cats,” Harry continues. He turns the pan on the stove with a deft movement before he hums in satisfaction and brings it over the table, where there are two fancy plates set out. One has a bowl of water, clearly meant for Eggsy, and the other has a steaming mug of tea.

Harry serves them _eggs_.

Eggsy doesn’t even wait for Harry to sit down, because he _loves_ eggs. There’s a reason his father gave him the nickname “Eggsy”.

Harry, thankfully, doesn’t seem to mind. Or maybe he doesn’t hold cats to the same level as humans. Either way, while Harry busies himself with unfolding a napkin and arranging his silverware with great ceremony, Eggsy polishes off half of the eggs, pauses to lap some water, and then shoves his face back into his plate. It’s warm and fluffy and tasty and Eggsy is half tempted to climb onto Harry’s shoulders and lick his face and purr.

Not that Eggsy would, because he’s just a human in a cat body and not an actual cat. But the impulse is still there.

When he’s done, though, Eggsy does give into the cat impulse to sprawl in the sunbeams on the table and doze mindlessly as Harry neatly collects all of the dishes. He puts them in some fancy dishwasher that looks more akin to a spaceship than any earthly home. It doesn’t have any buttons, just this really cool touchscreen interface that Harry starts using his fingerprints, because of course he does.

 _Rich people,_ Eggsy thinks. Eggsy would literally settle for a dishwasher that worked.

Harry spends the rest of the day locked upstairs. He told Eggsy that he had free reign of the house and promptly locked Eggsy out of the study upstairs, but Eggsy only pouts for a little bit. The temptation to explore a proper rich person’s house takes over and Eggsy prowls around. What he learns isn’t really interesting, since he already knows Harry is rich (see all of the porcelain and glasses in the cabinet) and weird (see the stuffed dog in the loo). All in all, aside from a mildly interesting habit of pinning butterflies, Harry seems like a normal rich bloke.

Key word: seems.

Eggsy has honed a rather excellent gut instinct over all the years. He’s not sure what Harry is hiding, but he’s hiding something. No one has locks that intense on their door without good reason.

Harry does not help things by coming down the stairs in the afternoon and hurriedly shrugging on a coat in such a way that Eggsy can’t help but glimpse the unmistakable sign of a gun holster. And yeah, he’d sniffed out the RAMC t-shirt that Harry had left out on the dresser, but still. Harry is also talking to thin air, which Eggsy supposes could be attributed to V-glasses if he wasn’t saying some of the weirdest crap Eggsy has ever heard.

“ – I’ll be there in five minutes. Yes. No, Merlin, I think I can – I’m just looking for my Rainmaker. Merlin, for goodness sake, I’ll be fine, it was only a dislocated shoulder. No, I think it’s actually a new record for dislocations; this makes seven for this one? Yes, I’m including the time I fell out of a – no, I am _not_ including that time, that time involved bullets and fifteen scientists. It was definitely fifteen. Didn’t you review the footage for that incident? Oh, yes, I had forgotten Percival drugged you. So Morgana should know then, ask her if you think I’m lying. It’s her fault anyways, if I’d gotten ten more seconds I could have just used my lighter. Why not? It’s not like the facility survived more than ten minutes after I left anyways, Bors planned the extraction and you know how he is. Ah, excellent. I’ll be right there. Pardon? Oh yes, that’s my cat. Mr. Eggs. Yes, I did indeed tell you about him, Merlin.”

Eggsy purrs when Harry crouches and pets him, because weird dog-stuffing-owner or not, Harry definitely knows how to pet an animal right.

“See, he’s fine,” Harry continues to thin air. He smiles as he says it, but his eyes aren’t quite looking at Eggsy. They’re just the tiniest bit off-center, like he’s looking at something on his glasses. “The poor thing was shivering in my garden, and I couldn’t just leave him out there in the cold weather. Oh for god’s sake, Merlin, he’s a cat, not an undercover plant. The most damage he’ll do is scratch the furniture and shed some fur.”

Just for that, Eggsy deliberately rubs up against Harry’s leg and cackles inwardly at the sight of dirty blond strands on black pants as Harry strides out the door.

* * *

Harry comes back with a steaming bag of food, eyes shadowed by weariness, and a limp. Eggsy politely ignores that it takes Harry twice as long to divest himself of clothes and change into pajamas and instead just cuddles up to Harry’s face and licks at his cheek.

“You’re affectionate tonight, Mr. Eggs,” Harry says, sounding amused. He pets Eggsy all the same, and that’s how they drift off to sleep.

After that they settle into a rhythm. Harry makes breakfast, works out in the gym, makes lunch, does his job or whatever he does on the computer in the study, makes dinner, and then they finish up the day watching mindless telly on the couch. Eggsy busies himself with learning every nook and cranny of Harry’s house and occasionally watches the phone and contemplates dialing his flat; he always decides against it, because what the hell is going to do, _meow_ at his mum?

It’s okay, though. Harry makes good food, gives excellent ear scratches, and if Eggsy picks out a great spot to watch Harry meticulously reach his quota of a billion sit-ups and pull-ups and sweats a ton, it’s not like Harry knows Eggsy’s got a human brain and is totally ogling him.

And then one night, Harry doesn’t return from work, which Eggsy discovers when he wakes up from his little nest of blankets on Harry’s bed to find that the house is undisturbed. His meows go unanswered. He masters walking down the stairs, but there is no breakfast and no Harry to reward him. He counts the butterflies and watches the clock, but the door doesn’t open, and Eggsy has no idea what kind of Harry really does but the sketchy factor goes up by like ten. Harry hasn’t done anything crazy beyond occasionally talking to himself and walking around with a gun holster, but still. 

By the time the door cracks open, Eggsy is sitting by the phone and contemplating knocking it off the hook and pawing 999 into it.

He races down to the door, meowing and lashing his tail, horrified by how happy he is and thrilled at Harry’s return – except it’s not Harry that is coming through the door. It’s some lady who has a clipboard in one hand, glasses that look exactly like Harry’s, and a bag of unopened cat food.

Eggsy screeches to a stop and hisses. The lady has a key and everything, but Harry’s house smells exclusively of Harry, dog, and now cat-Eggsy. For all he knows, this lady stole Harry’s key and pretended to come and petsit his cat.

Eggsy would know; he’s totally done that before.

The lady seems completely unfazed by his hissing. “Hello there, Mr. Eggs. Harry’s got himself in a spot of trouble, so I guess you’re stuck with me until he gets back.”

Eggsy is not wearing a collar. Harry had measured his neck, but then he had been suitably distracted by the ridiculous spy antics playing on the telly for a James Bond rerun, so Eggsy’s been running around without anything to indicate what his nickname is. And he’s only ever mentioned it to Merlin in his thin air conversations, whoever or whatever Merlin is.

He still snaps at her hand, though. He’s got to have some pride.

The lady laughs and introduces herself as Amelia. She also talks to thin air like Harry does, but her clipboard is far more suspicious, given that it only unlocks with her fingerprints and looks more akin to a tablet than a clipboard.

When Eggsy tries to get closer, purring and pretending to ask for an ear rub, Amelia tilts the screen away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Eggs. Confidential information, you know, and Merlin would kill me if you really did turn out to be a plant. Or at the very least he’d send me to Siberia until the next time Harry blows something up.”

Eggsy pouts.

Luckily, Harry walks in the door the next morning, although “hobbles” is probably a more accurate term, given that he has a brace on his foot and one arm is in a sling. Amelia practically flies off of her chair where she had been sketching some molecules on her clipboard tablet and scolds him.

Granted, she does so in a way that does not at all alleviate Eggsy’s suspicions. “Galahad,” she says, putting her hands on her hips, “I know for a fact that you are not supposed to be putting weight on that leg.”

Harry manages to look simultaneously abashed and aloof. How, Eggsy has no idea, but he does. “I see Merlin has seen fit to inform you of my condition.”

“Amelia informed herself about your situation,” she says tartly. “Now sit down before you break that leg again, Galahad.”

Eggsy hops onto the table, tail twitching, as Harry shuffles to the couch and lowers himself down. His face eases somewhat as he does so, a tension releasing from the corners of his mouth and eyes, and he lays down his bag with a small sigh. Eggsy had never thought of Harry has _old_ , per se, but right now as Harry stretches his neck and leans back, he’s frighteningly aware that Harry is breakable and slow to heal and mortal.

Still, Harry manages to smile at Eggsy when he sees there. “Hello, Mr. Eggs. I’m glad to see you’re alive.”

Eggsy meows at him. A week ago, he never would have indulged in such a catlike behavior, but it gets boring to be silent all the time. With Dean, it might have been, if only to freak the man out, but Harry is unnervingly aware of his surroundings and is never surprised when Eggsy creeps round the corner.

“I missed you too,” Harry says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “And I am sorry I’m late, but I ran into a slight spot of trouble. Just a minor disagreement.”

Eggsy plunks his butt down and gives Harry the best side eye he can manage as a cat.

“Don’t look at me like that. I assure you, I’ve come out of situations far worse than this and still managed to get myself home.”

“And by that,” Amelia interrupts, appearing next to them with a tray of soup and sandwiches, “you mean that you pestered the doctors until Merlin finally had enough and either locked you in your quarters or called for a cab and dumped you in it after he had activated all the surveillance cameras around your home.”

“Well, I must allow Merlin his little quirks.”

“Shut up and eat, Galahad.”

* * *

Harry pulls rank on Amelia and dismisses her after dinner. It’s honestly the quietest argument Eggsy has ever heard, because the volume of their voices never goes above the sound of forks and spoons clinking against bowls and plates, but Harry’s shoulders are tense and Amelia is clutching her fork so hard her fingers go white as they trade words back and forth.

Eggsy, who has no desire to be caught in an argument between a man who is armed and a woman who has a clipboard with who knows what tech on it next to her, chomps down his food in three seconds flat and then scarpers.

He has no idea what kind of jobs Harry and Amelia have, but he remembers the hierarchy from his time in the Marines. Pulling rank is the best way he can describe how Harry says sharply, “And that will be all” and Amelia takes a long, deep breath, closes her eyes, and then says, saccharine sweet, “Very well, Galahad.” It’s so strange, because they’re both clearly angry with the other, but they never shout, they never throw things, they never call each other bad names. Eggsy has never seen an argument so _polite_.

Then again, they are very posh.

Harry goes upstairs at a stiff, slow pace after Amelia puts the dishes away and pointedly tells Harry to call if he needs anything, although when he heads for the study, Eggsy runs ahead and plants his butt in front of the door, glaring at his human.

“Mr. Eggs,” Harry sighs.

Eggsy hisses at him. He’s broken his arm and his leg before too, and he knows how much pain Harry must be in. In fact, Harry is probably in more pain, because Eggsy had least knew better than to check himself out of the hospital a moment sooner than he had to. The hospital was preferable to go home and deal with a sneering, smug Dean. Whenever Harry goes into his office, he won’t be lured out for hours at a time, doing whatever stuff he does in there.

“You’re very sweet,” Harry says, fighting to control his smile. “But I just want to retrieve my slippers and then I’ll go straight to bed, I promise.”

Eggsy considers it, lashing his tail, and then finally gives in with a displeased meow. Worse comes to worse, he can always seize the slippers in his mouth and run away to force Harry to come out and chase him.

Thankfully, Harry is a man of his word. He hobbles in, barely looking at the inside of the office, and retrieves his slippers.

The office actually isn’t that interesting, Eggsy realizes. It’s got a big desk that has a sleek computer and keyboard, but other than that it’s devoid of furniture. The carpet is bland, the windows normal, the desk solid and sturdy. About the only interesting thing is the fact that the walls are plastered with Suns covers, ranging from utterly mundane game scores to some titles that Eggsy actually blinks at because, honestly, why would a posh block like Harry plaster his wall with a Suns cover that says “To pee or not to pee”?

 _You are so weird,_ Eggsy thinks, watching as Harry shuts down his computer, and the surge of fondness that accompanies the thought is staggering. 

Still, given that Harry scoops him up and lets Eggsy ride on his shoulders like a purring scarf, he thinks he’s not alone in the sentiment. It’s not like Harry has a wife or kids or anything; he’s a lonely man. And Eggsy has his mom and his sister, but they’re his mom and his sister – with Harry, he can chill on the table and just exist next to Harry and be content with that. It’s . . . nice.

“I really shouldn’t have let you sleep on the bed that first time,” Harry mutters when he catches Eggsy rubbing against the pillows.

Eggsy licks him on the nose for that, just to see how Harry’s face wrinkles.

* * *

They’re woken in the night by an enormous _thump_ , like the sound of a boot slamming against the door. Harry goes from snoring to bolt upright at a ninety degree angle, like some kind of jack-in-the-box, and Eggsy nearly scratches his face off when his claws pop out on instinct.

At first, there’s just silence, and Eggsy feels his fur settling back down as he presses against Harry’s leg.

Then, the entire house shakes.

A stream of curses come out of Harry’s mouth, the kind of language Eggsy has certainly heard but would never expect out of Harry. Then again, he also doesn’t expect Harry to thump his fist against the wall and start rifling through the array of guns that pops out when the wall slides smoothly back. And there are a _lot_ of guns in it.

“This is Agent Galahad requesting back-up,” Harry snaps, loading his gun with the ease of long practice as he jams his glasses on his face. “Three – four hostiles are attempting to breach the outer door.”

Harry’s alarm clock – which Eggsy has never seen Harry use – starts _talking_. 

“This is Morgana,” a woman says through the speakers. “Merlin is on his way. Agents Percival and Lancelot are five minutes away, and an air support team is fifteen.”

“Permission for lethal countermeasures?”

“Any civilians on the premises?”

“Negative.” 

“Then permission granted, Agent Galahad. Try not to blow anything up, yes? We’re almost to two weeks between Merlin having to wipe security footage of an explosion.”

Harry grins, savage and fierce. Eggsy has never seen Harry like this, like a coiling snake has shed its placid skin and revealed itself with a rattling tail and sharp fangs. He looks like the kind of man Eggsy would cross the street and keep his eyes down to avoid. 

Although he supposes that spies would fit that bill.

“Stay here,” Harry says, giving him a quick ear scratch. “I’ll be back in a tic. Bite anyone who isn’t me.”

Eggsy bares his teeth.

“Good boy,” Harry murmurs.

The only downside of realizing that your rescuer is a spy, of course, is that movies don’t show how boring and nerve-racking it can be to hear muffled thumps and cut-short groans and not know what exactly is happening. He’s seen Harry exercise and Harry did leave with an awful lot of guns, but Harry also stated that there were four hostiles and Eggsy is sure that Harry probably is trying his best not to start a shoot-out in the neighborhood. That would probably get a lot of attention.

So Eggsy gives it about two minutes, and then he hops off the bed and scrambles to the stairs. One man is lying outside the study, and he smells burnt, like he’d touched a live wire. Eggsy avoids him.

Another is lying crumpled on the stairs, a pile of blood growing beneath him.

Harry is fighting the third. He is _lethal_ , holding nothing back despite his wonky arm and wobbly leg, and his opponent has already lost his mask and his gun to Harry’s furious attacks. Eggsy would take time to admire his movements after he picked up his jaw from the floor, but he’s too busy being distracted by the telltale gleam of moonlight flashing off of a gun scope.

It’s the fourth intruder, and there’s no way Harry can move out of the way in time. Not without getting killed by the third man.

Eggsy pops out his claws and takes a leap of faith.

* * *

When Eggsy blearily swims back to consciousness, he finds himself on shaky ground. Well, not really shaky ground, but Harry’s hands are trembling as he cradles Eggsy’s body against his chest, and the world is echoing with the sounds of other people moving around their home, faces grim and guns at the ready.

“ – stupid, stupid cat,” Harry is muttering. “Why would you leave the bedroom, you stupid, foolish, brave creature.”

Eggsy’s tail twitches without his consent, because meowing feels like too much effort.

“It’s all right,” Harry soothes. “It’s all right, I’ll have Merlin take a look at you, you’ll be all right, darling. Just relax.”

“I’ll be doing what now?”

A bald man with the fiercest eyebrows Eggsy’s ever seen appears over Harry’s shoulder. He’s got the same glasses and clipboard combo as Amelia, except that he’s also wearing a jumper and looks much more likely to tell Harry to stuff it than allow Harry to pull rank.

“Mr. Eggs saved my life,” Harry says.

Merlin’s eyebrow twitches. Eggsy wonders, somewhat dazedly, as to what kind of spy Harry is, exactly, that such a sentence makes Merlin sigh instead of demand that Harry be checked out as soon as possible by the nearest qualified mental health professional.

“Of course he did. I swear to god, your recklessness is contagious,” Merlin says. “Well, give him here. Gunshot?”

“Just blunt force trauma, I think. The man smashed him against a wall and stepped on him.”

The world tilts alarmingly as Harry transfers him into Merlin’s hands. Eggsy does meow then, because Merlin’s hands are cold and he wants Harry back, damn it.

“Och, settle your whiskers,” Merlin scolds. “I’m just doing a cursory check to make sure that you don’t have any internal bleeding before we sic Medical on you and idiot Agent Galahad over here. That’s a good lad, hold still, you – Galahad.”

“What?”

“He’s not a cat.”

“What do you mean, he’s not a cat?”

Eggsy meows indignantly when Merlin presses hard against his ribs. To be fair, Eggsy had started wriggling quite hard when Merlin had pronounced that he wasn’t a cat, but all Eggsy wants is out. He doesn’t _like_ being a cat, but he’ll take being cold and outside and alone as opposed to being locked up forever for sneaking into the house of a spy.

Merlin makes a complicated gesture, a graceful sort of curve that loops in and around, and the air around Eggsy lights up blue and red.

“That there is a curse,” Merlin says. “You recognize the other bit, I trust?”

“Oh my god,” Harry breathes. “Is that – ”

“Yes.”

Eggsy lurches to his feet the second Merlin releases him, but he runs smack into an invisible barrier of some sort. When he scrapes his claws against it, the air seems to give, just a little, but not enough for him to get free. It’s like he’s trapped in some sort of prison, and when he takes a running leap off the table for the nearest chair he bumps into another wall.

“I’m sorry, Agent Galahad,” he hears Merlin say, distantly, “but I’m going to need to take him in.”

“Of course.”

Eggsy is still yowling when the world goes black.

* * *

Eggsy wakes up handcuffed and strapped to a bed. It’s not exactly the most pleasant of circumstances, and it’s made worse by the fact that he’s human again and everything feels strange against human skin when he’s been a furry cat for so long. He’s also dressed in clothes are definitely not the ones he was wearing when Dean had someone turn him into a cat, so someone’s dressed him and that is not adding to the comfort factor.

Finally, and perhaps most infuriatingly of all, his da’s medal has been taken off of his neck and is lying in plain view on the table – just out of reach.

Eggsy picks the handcuffs in under a minute, but when he reaches for the medal, he encounters the same kind of invisible barrier that caged him as a cat. When he begins to bang on it, enraged, the door slides open and Merlin walks in, face as severe as before.

“Gary Eggsy Unwin,” Merlin says. “You’ve got quite the colorful file, haven’t you?”

Eggsy eyes him. In his experience, nothing good has ever come from trying to trick a wizard, and most of the witches and wizards in the estates barely have any power. Merlin apparently has enough to break an animal transformation curse, which Eggsy’s never even known a wizard could do; he’s always been taught that only the caster can break a spell.

“Gymnastics, then you quit. Honors classes, then you quit. The marines, and you seemed to do quite well there – except then you quit. Are you seeing a pattern?”

“Where’s Harry?”

Merlin ignores him. “I’m seeing a lot of potential here, but not a single drop of it was ever magical. Curious, isn’t it, that you ended up locked in an animal transformation spell just in time to stumble into Agent Galahad’s home?”

“I was cursed and it was cold,” Eggsy bites out. “Now where the hell is Harry?”

“I ask the questions here,” Merlin says.

“Not until you tell me where Harry is.”

“That’s classified.”

“If you let him die after I jumped off a staircase to save his sorry arse – ”

Merlin’s eyes go bright gold. It’s otherworldly and creepy and like nothing Eggsy’s ever seen in a wizard or witch before. “Kindly do not,” he grits out, “ever assume that I will let a patient of mine die when I can prevent it.”

“That ain’t an answer.”

“Then I suppose we are at an impasse.”

“Sure.”

Merlin sighs and gets back on his feet. “Alright, Mr. Unwin, I’ll be back. I have other infuriating patients to see to. Feel free to use the facilities, although I must warn you that this door is warded; you will not be able to leave. I’ve heard that you have a talent for escaping lock-up, but I assure you that our facilities are quite . . . different.”

“Whatever, bruv.”

“Do not call me ‘bruv’.”

* * *

Eggsy does get a rather nasty burn when he inevitably tries to pick the lock and weasel out of the door. The wards are strong on the door, stronger than anything he’s ever felt, and Eggsy is left blinking away lights in his eyes and cradling his burnt hand when the nurse comes running.

On the bright side, it does give the opportunity to pick the nurse’s pocket of his cell phone.

There’s a number on the back of his da’s medal. He remembers, vaguely, the voice of a tall man in a suit telling him that dialing that number would get him one favor. He’s never used it, mostly because it seemed foolish to throw away a favor over small things and after a while, he sort of forgot it was even a thing. Besides, it’s not like the cat version of him could have dialed and asked for help.

Still, Eggsy thinks that being kidnapped by a secret spy organization totally counts as warranting help from a strange number on the back of a medal.

“Customer Complaints, how may I help you?”

Which, okay, that’s . . . really weird, but Eggsy’s out of options. “Um, My name’s Eggsy – I mean, sorry, Gary, Gary Unwin. And I’m in a load of trouble. I’m in – well, I’m not actually sure where the hell I am – but I’m pretty sure I’m in some kind of secret classified underground bunker, and my mum said to call his number if I ever needed help.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” says the voice. “Wrong number.”

It’s definitely not what Eggsy wants to hear, but even as he’s desperately shouting “Wait! Wait!” he remembers, distantly, the man in the suit, crouching before him, saying, _Just say ‘oxfords, not brogues’ and I’ll know it’s you._

What the hell, it’s worth a shot.

“Oxfords not brogues?”

There’s a click on the line, and then silence. Eggsy doesn’t talk, because honestly he’s not sure what else to say and if he really has called some random customer service place this phone call’s already probably way too weird for whatever poor schmuck picked up his call. 

“Your complaint has been duly noted, and we hope we have not lost you as a loyal customer,” the voice says cheerfully.

Then the line goes dead.

Eggsy bangs his head against the door and groans.

* * *

After a long hot shower, Eggsy takes a nap, because why the hell not. He’s got nothing better to do. When he wakes up, Harry is sitting in the nearest chair and staring at him like a creeper.

“Harry!”

Harry smiles. It’s not a real smile, just the barest trace of one, but that’s okay. Harry is still wearing a brace and he’s sitting way too stiffly to be in no pain. “Hello, Eggsy. I see Merlin managed to break the curse.”

“Er, yeah. I guess.”

“I got a very interesting phone call,” Harry says blandly, as if he’s discussing the weather outside. He taps the side of his glasses and the glass on the opposite wall lights up. It’s blank – until sounds start playing and scrawling text transcribing the words appear on the screen. Eggsy watches the sounds of his own phone conversation begging for help play out and feels like his stomach has dropped out of his body.

“That medal there,” Harry says, tilting his head at the table, “is given to the children and remaining family of fallen Kingsman agents.”

“My dad,” Eggsy stutters, “my da was a soldier. He was just a soldier.”

“So he was.”

Eggsy’s not dumb. He wasn’t the best student, but not for lack of trying. Mostly it was Dean’s interference, to be honest. He looks at Harry’s suit, at his da’s medal, at the sophisticated wards that shut the door. He remembers voice of the nice man, the arguments his mum had with officers about his da’s death benefits, the way she’d cried and trashed the apartment but never touched the medal.

Eggsy looks into Harry’s face. “You’re a Kingman agent. And you recruited my da.”

Harry looks away. His face is shadowed with emotion, and Eggsy feels oddly out of place. “When Lee Unwin died, I entrusted that medal to your mother; I waited many years for a call to come through, but nothing ever die. I fear that I must . . . apologize, Eggsy. I should not have waited. I should have checked on you myself. You deserved that much.”

“I think I did all right.”

“You turned up on my doorstep trapped in an animal curse,” Harry says dryly. “And Merlin compiled your medical file, you know. Your entire file.”

Eggsy picks at the fibers on the blanket on the bed. It’s a touchy subject, his medical file; he’s had so many names at some many different places he doesn’t even know where he would start if he were compile his own records. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“As illegal as commandeering a double decker bus?”

“That was – oh, no, you are not getting me to incriminate myself.”

“I am not trying.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“I am trying,” Harry says quietly, eyes as serious as Eggsy’s ever seen, “to tell you that I see a young man who is brave, and loyal, and kind. Who has a lot of potential. Who wants to do some good with his life. I think that Kingsman could use someone like you. In fact, I think you might be exactly what we need.”

“What, a bloke who was a cat two days ago?”

“Eggsy.”

The way Harry says his name – fond and chiding and amused all at once – makes Eggsy want to shake himself all over, like he used to in cat form. It makes him feel warm and gooey and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“So if I say yes, does that mean I can get out of this room?” he ventures.

“Well, I can hardly train you from in here. I do however have a very nice house that I think you are already quite acquainted with.”

“Deal,” Eggsy says, because why the hell not?

* * *

Dean’s face when Eggsy opens the door is _fantastic_. It’s only rivaled by the look on his face when the cops descend and drag him off in handcuffs.

His mum, clutching at Daisy in one hand and a rag in the other, stares in bewilderment at the chaos around him. “Eggsy, babe, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over and – and what on earth are you wearing?”

Eggsy casts a considering look down at his brand new suit. Granted, it was probably overkill to wear a bullet proof suit to the estates, but Harry had laid it out this morning and said _A suit is the modern gentleman’s armor, and we are first and foremost gentleman_. He had even helped Eggsy put everything on, although Eggsy had protested because Harry had spent nights on end measuring and cutting and sewing to put it all together for him.

“Oh, this?” Eggsy says lightly. “Just a little welcome-to-the-job perk. See, I met this bloke works at a tailor’s shop on Savile Row. He’s given me a job, Mum, and it comes with a lot of perks. Including a house.”

He watches the way his mum’s eyes go wide and round, and it’s totally worth the days on end of arguing with the Table to give him a house, which is a bonus usually reserved for top level agents and handlers instead of entry level valets like himself. Thankfully, Harry had been at his side the entire way, steadfast and stubborn, and eventually, Merlin and the rest had caved to his request to provide the stable environment for his family that Harry argued he was owed as Lee’s son and Harry’s savior.

“Come and live with me there, Mum. Come on.”

She takes Eggsy’s hand, smiling – really, truly smiling – for the first time in a long time, and Eggsy knows they’ll be all right.

 _Well done, Eggsy,_ Harry says in his ear. 

“Are you resting your leg, Galahad?”

_Oh my god, you might be worse than Mother Merlin._

“I’m telling him you said that.”

FINIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2's prompt is "Christmas market". I have absolutely no idea what I am going to write but something will happen. See you then!
> 
> A/N: Yeah, Mr. Eggs is a stupid name, but I wanted something similar to Eggsy and my brain couldn't quite stop laughing over Mr. Eggs. The eyes-going-gold-when-using-magic thing I borrowed from the Merlin TV show, which has influenced a lot of my fics (probably more than is healthy).
> 
> A/N #2: Also I found [this Kingsman cat art on tumblr](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com/tagged/kingsman-and-kingscat) and OH MY GOD IT'S BEAUTIFUL. IMAGINE EGGSY AS THAT.


	2. Christmas Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry goes on a "simple mission" to a Christmas market, he is definitely not expecting to be shrunk down to 12 centimeters. He's also not expecting to find out that he's by no means the first victim either. Enter Eggsy Unwin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Ahhhh some implied bad stuff in Eggsy's past (thanks Dean) but nothing else.
> 
> I watched [this "Downsizing" trailer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_POpCkJToEQ) which is what inspired this ficlet. Fair warning, I have no idea what movie is actually about so if this is nothing like it . . . well, you have been warned. Secondly, this is completely not Brit-picked, as evidenced by the fact that an hour ago I realized I had written everywhere that Harry was five inches tall (like in the Downsizing trailer) and then cursed because I realized Harry is British and uses the metric system. I think I replaced all of them, but if I missed any that's why. Please feel free to tell me, by the way, if any are still in there.

Quite honestly, the last thing Harry expected when he was given an “easy retrieval mission” was to end up captured.

Well, okay, being captured is nothing _new_ , really. Harry has cultivated a reputation for being very fond of explosions more because it’s the easiest way to get clear of kidnappers and ensuring they can’t come after you than because he likes the fire and the heat and the pretty colors. Mostly, anyways; he has taken a gander through his psych profile and he can’t deny the thrill he gets from tossing a hand grenade into a messy situation.

But the fact remains that he had been promised a quick hand-off: walk in, spot the target, trade code words, verify the package, accept the package, and then come right back to the shop to deposit his prize. They had even thrown in the bonus of agreeing to pay for anything Harry purchased at the Christmas market whilst pretending to be a tourist.

Instead, the series of events goes more like this: Harry walks in, spots the target, trades the code words, gets shot in the chest, gets chased through the streets, gets hit by a car, gets bashed in the head, and gets captured.

Spoiler: he does not manage to get the package.

Second spoiler: when he wakes up, he is about twelve centimeters tall.

“So much for an easy mission,” Harry sighs.

* * *

Luckily for Harry but not for the amount of explaining that’s going to have to happen in Harry’s mission report, he bumps into someone who can explain what the hell is going on not soon after he wakes up. And by bumps, he does mean literally; he took a corner and runs full tilt into a man, and they both splutter and nearly fall on their arses.

“Oh, hey, you’re new,” says the person who is wearing a truly eye searing combination of winged shoes and black-and-yellow patterned clothes.

“Harry Hart, at your service,” Harry replies automatically.

The man blinks at him. “Er, my name’s Eggsy. No offense but, uh, how’d you end up, well. Down here?”

Harry looks down – all twelve centimeters of it – to the floor, and then all the way back up, towards the ceiling and the sky. It makes him feel immeasurably smaller. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. I woke up on the floor, if that’s what you’re asking me. Presumably I _could_ make my way back up to a table or window, but that would require a great deal of effort.”

Eggsy springs back up onto his feet. He has the flexibility of youth, and Harry feels the flash of a familiar old friend: yearning for the days when he too could do some feats without blinking.

“Well, obviously,” Eggsy says, “but what I meant was like – I mean. Hell. Ain’t no one who looks like you who gets stuck like this.”

Harry sighs. He doesn’t remember any kind of briefing for strange experiments, missing people, or any other weird shenanigans in this part of town, and he would know, seeing as all agents stationed near major gatherings – like the Christmas market he can still hear going on outside – are briefed thoroughly on possible trouble spots, both so that they can step in if needed and so that if they spot anything suspicious, it can be relayed promptly to the proper authorities. Unofficially, it’s also so that Merlin has time to get together proper covers in case they interfere and are caught and have to make nice with MI5 or something, but no one likes to talk about that since the agent who is the reason behind this rule is still stationed in Alaska for the fourth year in a row.

“I think you’d better tell me everything you know,” Harry says.

* * *

Long story short, it turns out that the man currently behind Harry’s predicament is some mad scientist (what else is new) who is trying out a new shrink-ray. He’s pissed about global warming and believes that the best solution that does not involve killing off most of the world’s population is to instead shrink said population. It would come with the benefits of reducing the world’s pollution output and supposedly would help them reconnect with nature since most technology will be too large for them to reach.

“Or at least,” Eggsy concludes, kicking his legs rhythmically as he decimates a breadcrumb that is actually big enough to be a sandwich at his current size, “that’s what the bruv told me when he was hooking me up. Honestly I think he’s just off his rocker.”

“And you stated that I was new. How many others are here?”

“Eh, not many. I mean, from what I’ve heard in the beginning the tech wasn’t too hot, so sometimes people would die, either right after shrinking or in the middle cuz not all of their body parts shrank, you get me? And once he got a few successful tests he stopped snatching kids off the street, and most of us, well, we ain’t good at sticking together. I come round every now and then and see about stragglers, but you’re the first new one in _ages_.”

“Ages being days or months or . . . ?”

Eggsy scratches his neck. “Erm, well, when I got snatched we was about to sit down for Thanksgiving, so like, a month? For me, anyways, there’s some who’ve been here since Halloween.”

“Funny, I would have thought you were dressed perfectly for Halloween.”

“You’re a right joker, these are perfectly acceptable clothes. Yours on the other hand are gonna get ruined in two days flat.”

Harry sniffs and takes the final bite of his own breadcrumb. Eggsy apparently raids kitchens and shops for bits and bobs of food, and Harry would feel bad except that his Kingsman glasses still work and he can make note of where he’s stealing from.

Well, the recording bit still works, anyways. The transmission part seems a little iffy, especially since no back-up has arrived and there’s no Merlin shouting expletives in his ear.

“My clothes are sturdier than they look.”

“Sturdy or no, they’re gonna be beyond repair soon,” Eggsy predicts gleefully. “You know it rains like cats and dogs here, right? And bruv, if you thought rain was bad when you were 2 meters something, it’s like a tsunami when you’re twelve centimeters.”

Harry lifts his umbrella meaningfully. He’s not quite sure why he still had it in his hand when he woke up. Granted, he is using the new prototype that collapses in on itself and can, in a squeeze, be turned into a makeshift parachute or raft, but Eggsy says that his cellphone and everything else got fried when he was shrunk so either Harry got lucky or the scientist is getting better. And Harry’s always been lucky, but on missions, he prefers to assume the worst.

Eggsy snorts at it. “Tsunami, bruv, I’m telling you.”

Harry politely does not mention that he’s been caught in a real tsunami. If Merlin was in his ear, he’d probably be giving points for Harry’s amazing self-control.

Then again, Harry did get shrunk by an experimental procedure that Merlin will likely have to undo, so maybe not.

“So what now? A tour of the facility, perhaps?”

“At night? You’re barking mad. At night we all huddle up somewhere safe.”

The way Eggsy says “safe” makes Harry look at him very carefully. He doesn’t seem to be unduly injured, and in fact seems rather cheerful for a man who’s been ripped away from his previous life and shrunk down. Aside from the fact that Harry kind of wants to feed him up and put some meat on his bones and also to dress him in clothing that won’t make Harry’s eyes fatigued, he looks like any other normal young man who’s been kidnapped off the streets and subjected to an insane scientist’s master plan.

Eggsy catches his look and manages a weak smile. “Okay, so, sometimes the henchmen come round afterwards, right? And they take people. And those people . . . usually don’t come back.”

“I thought you said everyone scattered. How can they possibly – ”

“Subdermal trackers.” Eggsy pokes at his shoulder. “I’m not an idiot, I know how to get them out, but like. It’s really hard to find something workable when you’re twelve centimeters tall.”

And, well, if Harry’s mission wasn’t blown to bollocks before, it definitely is now. Someone else has probably been assigned to retrieve the package, if it even existed, and Harry’s priority now is clearly the mad scientist running around with a shrink-ray. He most certainly can’t do that with a subdermal tracker – well, one that isn’t Kingsman’s, anyways – implanted in his shoulder.

And yes, he could get it out with the handy little knife that folds out of his belt buckle, but that’s far less impressive.

So Harry sighs, makes a quick note for himself and the now probably very, very long mission report, and says, “Eggsy, what I am about to reveal is incredibly classified and dangerous if it falls into the wrong hands.”

“Ooooookay.”

Harry then promptly zaps him with his signet ring until his glasses no longer register the implant.

Eggsy flails off the little ledge they’re sitting on and lands with a thump on the floor – well, their floor, anyways, which is really a window sill. “What the hell, bruv?!”

“I work for Kingsman, a spy organization operating at the highest levels of discretion,” Harry tells him soberly. “I’m going to need your help to shut this operation down, if you’re amendable. If not, a good description of the facilities and your name would be helpful so that I can carry out my mission and compensate you accordingly for your time. Oh, and if you would be so kind as to take my ring and deactivate my implant as well, there’s a good chap.”

“You,” Eggsy says, “are absolutely off your rocker. I’m in.”

* * *

True to his word, although Eggsy does not give him a proper tour, he does describe everything he knows about the layout, the operations, the staff, and even some of the technology he noticed before he was shrunk. He’s quite observant, actually, and Harry finds himself thinking more than once that it’s a shame he’s not an intelligence operative of some kind already.

He’s less forthcoming with his full name despite knowing Harry’s, but then again, if Eggsy were to search “Harry Hart” he’d only come up with whatever cover Merlin saw fit to design today, so it’s not like Harry’s overly concerned about giving out his name.

Harry also isn’t concerned about getting Eggsy’s. Once his files are uploaded to the Kingsman server, facial recognition can probably identify Eggsy in a tic.

Of course, the other reason Harry is seriously considering making Eggsy part of the intelligence community is that wiping his memory is going to be a right pain in the arse after a month of running around twelve centimeters tall, but Eggsy is still shiny-eyed over Harry’s high-tech signet ring and his collapsible, bullet proof umbrella, so Harry isn’t about to go over the amnesia darts in his ring just yet.

They go to sleep in Eggsy’s makeshift hideout, which has two handkerchiefs and scraps of fabric that serve as beds and blankets. Eggsy faceplants and essentially goes to sleep immediately, but Harry stays up for a little while longer. He uses the time to start organizing his footage and files before he sends them off to his private server, because apparently sending them to the main Kingsman servers isn’t possible. He also tries and fails to send another message to Merlin or anyone, really, and is beginning to contemplate the possibility of needing to remove one of his Kingsman implants to send a definitive distress signal when Eggsy starts whimpering.

Harry gets as far as saying Eggsy’s name before Eggsy jackknifes up and darts to the wall, shivering and muttering. His eyes are wild and his stance is a fighting one; Harry recognizes it immediately.

“Eggsy,” Harry says again, and then he pauses, because what can he really tell the man? He just met him.

“I’m fine,” Eggsy snaps.

He’s clearly not. But it’s not like Harry has any room to judge; he’s in essentially the same situation as Eggsy right now, and Kingsman agents aren’t wanting for reasons to have their own nightmares and personal trauma. Merlin has browbeaten him into his fair share of therapy sessions with Kingsman vetted counselors.

So instead, Harry says, “Do you remember that scuffle over a faulty dirty bomb in Paris a couple years back?”

Eggsy slants a very suspicious look. It’s probably not unwarranted, given that Harry is currently elbow deep into his glasses and trying to tweak the settings to boost the transmission power, but eventually Eggsy’s curiosity wins out and he nods. 

Then he puts the dots together. “That was you?!”

“Perhaps.”

“You _cannot_ just open a conversation with a line like that, bruv,” Eggsy scolds. “Now I need the whole story.”

‘Well, if you _need_ it.”

* * *

The next morning, they embark on their mission to deactivate the shrink ray. Or well, they start the mission to deactivate the shrink ray.

In reality, Harry creeps onto the scene and then pauses, because his glasses start going berserk as they recognize all the subtle and not-so-subtle signs that Kingsman agents have kicked the physical and electronic doors open and are currently raiding the place from top to bottom. Even Eggsy takes one look at the door open just a tad, the chairs stacked neatly in the corner, and the serious men and women in suits milling about and says, “I think we missed our moment, Haz.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Well, I can’t very well call you Agent Harry Hart, now can I?”

Harry is about to reply very smartly to this when Merlin completely decimates his arguments by looking up sharply from his tablet, eyes darkened with exhaustion, and yelling, “HARRY HART I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE RIGHT BLOODY NOW.”

Harry sighs.

Eggsy snickers. “Whoa. Someone hasn’t their morning coffee.”

“Tea, actually, Merlin detests coffee.” He’ll still drink it, of course, but only the Kingsman tech branch kind, as that is the one whose formula Merlin’s techs tweaked to taste more like tea and have a ridiculously higher percentage of caffeine and sugar for maximum boosting abilities.

“His name is Merlin?”

“If I told you his real name,” Harry says solemnly, “I’d have to kill you.”

Then he crosses his arms and waits for Merlin to get annoyed enough to take control of his glasses feed manually. It takes less time than he thinks – only two minutes – and then Merlin is taking in Harry’s vision, which includes no less than three giant Kingsman agents lumbering around and taking notes and photographs.

“Why is it always you,” Merlin sighs.

Harry clears his throat. “Ah, yes, apparently the scientist perfected a shrink ray? It’d be lovely if you could reverse it. The sooner the better, even.”

“I’m not a bloody wizard.”

“Merlin.”

“If you get eaten by one of the dogs, I’ll not shed a single tear,” Merlin says, and then he stomps his way over to them. “Also, who the hell is this?”

* * *

They are unable to track down many of the other victims of the scientist’s shrink ray, so Merlin decides to quarantine Harry and Eggsy to Harry’s house until they can figure out a good way to test the shrink way without risking anyone else’s life. Harry makes the standard protests, but they’re weaker than usual, mostly because half of his attention is spent making sure that Eggsy doesn’t fidget right off the little platform that they’re using to give Harry enough height for him to make his case to Arthur and the other knights.

“You look like freaking test tube babies,” Eggsy hisses at him after they dropped off at Harry’s house. “Oh my god, it was the creepiest thing, all of you nutters with the same exact glasses and suits and, hell, even the same expressions!”

“If you had to listen to the same speeches over and over again,” Harry says dryly, “you’d develop the same ‘I’m listening’ face.”

Of course, his brilliant reply goes unnoticed, because that is when Eggsy catches sight of Mr. Pickles.

“ . . . You know,” Eggsy says faintly after a minute, “I should’ve guessed you had literal skeletons in your closet.”

“It is _not_ a skeleton, Eggsy – ”

“Shut it, Haz.”

* * *

Merlin deactivates Harry’s access to the Kingsman database, mostly because he’s being a right prick, but officially because Harry has an unvetted and possibly major breach of security living in his house with him. Between that and the fact that Merlin’s techs are testing out the shrink ray on all sorts of food and clothing items means that Harry really doesn’t have much to occupy his time: their food is delivered shrunk to the perfect size and their clothes are delivered perfectly shrunk to their size. When they’re done, Merlin’s techs try to undo the effects and do normal laundry and mostly explode things.

Harry just sighs and watches as Eggsy discretely tries to break into his various safes.

Eggsy’s actually not that bad, it only takes him fifteen minutes to get pass the first security layer, but he sets off the second and ends up frantically waving his hand in the air and cursing.

Harry turns it into a lesson on safecracking.

He turns it into a lot of lessons, actually. He can’t write any reports or view surveillance, after all. He can’t cook or sew or engage in any of his other hobbies. He can’t even go down to the dog kennels to play with the puppies, one of his favorite past times. So he settles for training Eggsy in anything Eggsy seems remotely interested in, which is a lot: hand to hand combat, safecracking, code breaking, surveillance, how to shake surveillance, how to disappear, how to stand out. Eggsy soaks it all up like a sponge.

Well, mostly. Sometimes Eggsy just lays on the mat after Harry kicks him down and he stays there moaning.

“You’re evil,” Eggsy mutters.

Harry rubs at his stomach, where Eggsy had caught him by surprise with the flexibility of youth – and possibly also past gymnastic experience, although Harry hasn’t had a chance to confirm it – and kicked him into the stomach as he whipped over Harry’s hit instead of under it, which was what Harry had been expecting.

“In your defense,” Harry says, “I have had a lot more experience than you.”

Eggsy flaps a dramatic hand at him. “I’m dying, Harry, you killed me. You actually killed me.”

“And yet here you are, talking and breathing.”

“It’s my ghost. I’ll stop possessing my body in a minute, I promise. Then I’ll just haunt you as an incorporeal being and make your life living hell.”

“If you are truly incorporeal, I wish you great luck with that endeavor.”

“Oi, I bet I could be the best incorporeal pain in the arse you’ve ever seen!”

Harry looks down at Eggsy, gleaming with sweat and chest heaving and eyes bright with laughter, and believes it, because Eggsy doesn’t even have to be incorporeal to distract Harry now. Just him right now, real and alive and laughing, is actually quite enough. “Come on,” Harry says instead. “I do believe our lunch is ready.”

* * *

Merlin finally masters the shrink ray after two and a half weeks later, after he successfully shrinks a bath robe and returns it to size. He does the same thing to a poison pen, and then a worm, and then a chicken, and then finally sends the order for Harry and Eggsy to come to Kingsman HQ to be returned to normal size.

It’s not quite necessary, of course. Merlin could debrief Harry in his office just as well as HQ, given that Harry’s office is secure, but Harry watches the way Eggsy’s eyes go wide as they are escorted through HQ and resolves to thank Merlin discretely later.

Then they get into an argument over who goes first, and well. Harry takes back the thank-Merlin idea.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Harry argues. “I should be going first.”

Eggsy, who is still tapping his fingers in a nonsensical pattern from where he’s curled up on the bed as Merlin adjusts the shrink ray, just offers him a cheeky thumbs up. “Nah, Haz, we overruled you. I’m younger, I’m not the secret agent with data to be debriefed, and I’ve spent a lot longer as a twelve-centimeter dying hazard. I totally get to go first.”

Harry’s throat closes up. They are all incredibly reasonable arguments, after all. Harry is older and Eggsy’s youth will give him an edge if anything goes wrong. Harry carries a lot of important information in his head; Eggsy is, for all intents and purposes, a young man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Harry can’t argue that if he had been stuck as a twelve centimeter man for weeks on end, he wouldn’t be eager to get back to his normal size.

How can he say that his heart squeezes at the thought of Eggsy potentially dying? That he can hardly breathe or blink at the thought of the process working – or worse, not working? That he wants so badly to charge over there and kick Eggsy off the bed and be resized first, consequences and possible lethal outcomes be damned? That he can hardly comprehend the enormity of Eggsy’s compassion and self-sacrifice, to be willing to undergo an incredibly experimental procedure that _might kill him_ just so that Harry won’t have to go first?

“Please,” Harry types out to Merlin, because that’s as far as he gets before he can’t take his eyes off Eggsy to keep on typing.

“I know,” Merlin sends back.

They all retreat to the next room to watch over the procedure, and Harry feels the techs moving around and chatting quietly and setting up equipment before Merlin clears his throat and everything goes quiet. 

“Three,” Merlin says, and Harry thinks of Eggsy’s terrible sneakers and eye-gouging jacket and the way it all seemed to work, somehow, with his slouch and easy grace.

“Two,” Merlin says, and Harry thinks of Eggsy’s eyes, so expressive and beautiful and dear.

“One,” Merlin says, and Harry thinks of Eggsy’s enormous heart, the compassion that drove him to bump into and save a complete stranger just because he could, just because he felt he should, just because it was the right thing to do, just because it’s _Eggsy_ and why wouldn’t he?

Then the machine powers on, the whole room goes white, and Harry is left frantically blinking away spots and tears as he presses against the window.

“Holy hell,” Eggsy shouts, and then he flails and falls off the bed.

And just like that, Harry’s entire skeleton turns to water and he has to sit, immediately, or else collapse. Merlin gives him one quick look and then goes in with the rest of his techs to run scans on Eggsy. Or try to, anyways, given that Eggsy is currently dancing around the room in glee with his newly normally-sized limbs and body.

“This is _awesome_ , Haz, get in here!”

“Don’t call me Haz.”

Eggsy cups his ear and grins like a manic. “Sorry, what’s that? Lassie’s out?”

Harry resolves to spar him and beat him into the mats again the second they are both restored to the same size. And as soon as Harry’s lungs start functioning through the sheer relief.

Then it’s his turn, and the machine powers on with that same bright light and Harry squeezes his eyes shut and – 

He’s back to human size again.

Harry heaves a very loud sigh of relief and then obediently tips his head up as Merlin starts poking his face and shining lights in his eyes. 

“I saw that sigh, did you really think I’d let you die?” Merlin grumbles crossly.

“Well, it is a very concerning fate.”

“Rude.”

Fortunately or unfortunately, their impending argument is cut short when Eggsy stomps over and demands Harry move over, immediately. Harry complies, mostly because he’s never heard Eggsy sound so serious before, and then he stares in concern as Eggsy frantically runs his fingers over the bed, muttering hysterically to himself.

“Eggsy, what – ?”

“Got it!”

Eggsy pops back up with something that glitters under the fluorescent lights. It’s far too tiny to get a good look at, but Eggsy cups it in his palm with such tenderness on his face that Harry feels almost like he’s intruding.

“Er, got what?” Merlin asks after a moment.

“It’s my da’s. Only thing I have of him, really. Please tell me you can turn it back.”

“Don’t see why not,” Merlin shrugs.

Harry will never, ever let him live it down that the moment that changed all of their lives forever was initiated by Merlin saying “Don’t see why not”.

Because the glittering gold thing Eggsy was holding? When it was little, Harry couldn’t have made it out, but at regular size, gleaming on the bed at Kingsman HQ – Harry can’t possibly _not_ recognize it. It’s a Kingsman medal, and Kingsman only ever gives out one kind of medal.

At that exact moment, Harry’s glasses finally readjust to being normal size and sync with the Kingsman databse, and he gets a very nice, neatly formatted alert that the subject standing to his three o’clock is Gary Eggsy Unwin, son of former Kingsman candidate Lee Unwin.

Merlin sighs. “I knew your name sounded familiar.”

Eggsy says, “What.”

* * *

“Wait, so . . . my dad was one of you?”

“Well, he almost was. He had passed all of the tests, anyways.”

“ . . . My dad was a _spy_?”

“Agent, and yes.”

“Wicked.”

“Eggsy.”

“Does this mean that I can be a spy too? I’m already in your super secret headquarters, right? Wait, if I can’t join you does that mean you’re gonna like kill me or threaten to kill me if I say anything, cuz I swear I won’t, swear down I’ve never grassed up anyone in my life, you can check my file that you’re probably got on your databases somewhere.”

“ . . . Eggsy. I – No, I am not going to threaten to kill you.”

“Cool.”

“I’ll just wipe your memory.”

“ . . . Wait, can you really do that? Can you seriously actually really do that?”

“Come along, Eggsy. It’s time for you to meet the Round Table of Kingsman.”

“I swear to god if you wipe my memory and then kill me, I will totally haunt your arse for the rest of your life.”

FINIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 is "Kiss". Um . . . . I think it's involving something to do with Harry and Eggsy in quarantine. And possibly sex pollen. We'll see.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on [tumblr](http://thesilverqueenlady.tumblr.com) for anyone who is curious.


End file.
